Dorothy was a sensible girl. She obeyed his order and placed herself on his knees.
“Now put your feet over mine on the rudder pedals. And remember—to turn right, push down on the right pedal, and vice versa. Get the idea?”
“Quite, thanks.”
“Fine. Next—grab this stick and keep it as I have it. Now, I’m going to pull my feet from under yours—ready?”
“Let her go!”
Bill jerked his feet away, to leave Dorothy’s resting on the pedals.
“Good work!” he applauded. “The old bus hardly swerved. Keep her as she’s pointed now. We can’t change her course, much less take off until we hit one of those inlets along the Connecticut shore, and smoother water. Brace yourself now—I’m going to slide out of this seat.”
Dorothy was lifted quickly. Then she dropped back into the pilot’s seat to find herself fighting the tenacious pull of heavy seas, straining her leg muscles to keep the plane from floundering.
“How’s it going?” Bill’s voice came from the floor of the cockpit where he was busily engaged in pounding circulation back into his numbed legs and feet.
“Great, thanks. But I will say that this amphibian of yours steers more like a loaded truck in a mudhole than an honest-to-goodness plane! How are your legs?”
“Gradually getting better—pretty painful, but then I’m used to this sort of thing.”
“Poor boy!” she exclaimed sympathetically, then gritted her teeth in the effort to keep their course as a huge comber crashed slightly abeam the nose.
Bill grasped the side of her seat for support. “You handled that one nicely,” he approved when the wave had swept aft. “But don’t bother about me—you’ve got your own troubles, young lady. I’ll be all right in a few minutes.”
“What I can’t understand,” said Dorothy, after a moment, “is why this plane didn’t sink when you landed and picked me up. How did you keep from slewing broadside and going under?”
“Well, it was like this. When I left you on the beach, I motored back home to New Canaan. The sky was blackening even then. I was sure we were in for the storm, so after putting up the car, I went out to the hay barn in that ten acre field where we house the old bus. She needed gas, so I filled the tanks, gave her a good looking over and went back to the house and telephoned.”
“You mean you phoned the beach club about me?”
“Yes. The steward said you weren’t anywhere around the club, and your sloop wasn’t in the inlet. It was pretty dark by then and the wind was blowing a good thirty-five knots. I made up my mind you must be in trouble. Frank ran after me on my way out to the plane—he’s our chauffeur you know—”
“Yes, I know—” broke in Dorothy—“he drove you and your father to the movies last night. I saw him.”
“That’s right. Frank’s a good scout. He wanted to come along with me, but I wouldn’t let him.”
“I s’pose you thought you’d save his skin, at least?”
“Something like that. A fellow doesn’t mind taking responsibility for himself—it’s a different thing with some one else. Well, before Frank and I ran this plane out of the barn, I rigged the sea anchor (nothing more than a large canvas bucket with a couple of crossed two-by-twos over the top to keep it open) with an extra long mooring line. The sea-anchor I brought up here in the cockpit with me. The other end of the line was fastened to a ring-bolt in the nose, of course. Well—to get through with this yarn—I took off alone and flew over to the Sound.”
“But wasn’t it awful in this wind?”
“It was pretty bad. As soon as I got over water, I switched on the searchlight, but it was a good half-hour before the light picked you up. Then I landed—”
“Into the wind or with it?” interrupted Dorothy.
“Getting interested, eh?” commented Bill with a smile. “Well, just remember this then, never make a downwind landing with a seaplane in a wind blowing over eighteen miles an hour.”
“Why?”
“Because the wind behind your plane will increase the landing speed to the point where you will crash when you strike the water—that’s a good reason, isn’t it?”
“Then you landed into the wind when you came down for me?”
“That’s right. And as soon as I struck the water, I shut off the motor, opened one of these windows and threw over the sea anchor. Then I fished you out with the boathook.”
“It sounds sort of easy when you tell it—but I’ll bet it wasn’t.” She gazed at him admiringly. “You surely took some awful chances—”
“Hey there!” called Bill. “Pull back the stick or you’ll nose over.”
“That’s better,” he approved as she obeyed his order. “Keep it well back of neutral. Sorry I yelled at you,” he grinned.
Bill got to his feet. “I’m O.K. now,” he went on, “and you must be pretty well done up. I’m going to take it over.”
Seating himself on her lap, as she had sat on his, he placed his feet upon hers. A minute later, she had drawn her feet back from the rudder pedals, slipped out from under and was seated on the floor, rubbing life back into her feet and legs, as Bill had done.
“Why is it,” she inquired presently, “that the plane rides so much smoother when you’re guiding her?”
Bill smiled. “When I give her right pedal, that is, apply right rudder, I move the stick slightly to the left and vice versa. In that way I depress the aileron on the side I want to sail. It aids the rudder. You got along splendidly, though, and stick work when taxiing needs practice.”
Dorothy got to her feet, rather unsteadily. “Look!” she cried. “Lights ahead. We must be nearing shore, Bill.”
“We are. There’s a cove out yonder I’m making for. And better still, the wind is lessening. Just about blown itself out, I guess.”
In another ten minutes they sailed in through the mouth of an almost landlocked inlet and with the motor shut off drifted in comparatively smooth water.
“Any idea where we are?” inquired Dorothy, when Bill, after throwing out the anchor, came back to her.
“Somewhere between Norwalk and Bridgeport, I guess,” he replied. “There are any number of coves along here. I’ll take you ashore, now. We’ve got a collapsible boat aboard. Not much of a craft, but it’ll take the two of us in all right. We’ll go over to one of those houses, and get your father on the phone. He can come down and drive you back to New Canaan.”
“Drive us both back, you mean!”
“Sorry—but it can’t be done. I’ve got to take this old bus home as soon as the wind dies down a little more.”
“How long do you suppose that will be?” asked Dorothy quietly.
Bill glanced up at the black, overcast sky and then turned his gaze overside and studied the water toward the inlet’s mouth.
“Oh, in about an hour I’ll be able to take off.”
“Then I’ll wait and fly back with you.”
“You certainly are a sportsman,” he applauded and looked at his wrist watch. “It’s only ten to six—though anyone would think it was midnight. I’ll tell you what—suppose I shove off in the dinghy. I’ll row ashore and telephone your Dad from the nearest house. He will be half crazy if he knows you were out sailing in that blow and haven’t reported back to the club. In the meantime, you might scare up something to eat. There’s cocoa, condensed milk, crackers and other stuff in the cabin locker nearest the stove. You must be starved—I know I am!”
They were standing on one of the narrow decks that ran from amidships forward to the nose of the plane below the pilot house.
“The very thought of food makes me ravenous,” declared Dorothy, starting for the cabin door. “Give Dad my love and say I’m all right—thanks to you!” she threw back over her shoulder—“Tell him to put back dinner until seven-thirty—and to have an extra place laid. In the meantime I’ll dish up a high tea to keep us going.”
Within the cabin, she set water on the two-burner electric stove to boil. While
it was heating she let down the hinged table and set it with oilcloth doilies, that she found, together with other table necessities in a cupboard next the food locker. She discovered some bread and a number of other eatables stowed away here, as well as the things Bill had mentioned.
Twenty minutes later, Bill returned to find the table set with cups of steaming cocoa and hot toasted sandwiches spread with marmalade.
“I’ll say you’re some cook, Dorothy!” He pulled up a camp stool, and seated himself at the table. “This is a real party!”
“There isn’t any butter—” began Dorothy doubtfully.
“Don’t apologize. It’s wonderful—do start in or I’ll forget my manners and grab!”
Dorothy helped herself to a sandwich and handed the plate across the table. “Were you able to get Dad?”
“Yes. Just caught him. He’d only got home from the bank a few minutes before. One of the maids told him you’d spoken of going sailing, so he phoned the club about you. He was just leaving the house to drive down there when I rang him up.”
“Did he say anything else?”
“Oh, naturally, he was glad you were all right. He didn’t seem so pleased when I told him I was flying you back. He asked me if I was an experienced pilot.”
“He would.” Dorothy chuckled. “What did you tell him?”
Bill laughed as he helped himself to another sandwich. “I wanted to get out here to your high tea, you know, so I asked him if he smoked cigarettes.”
“Cigarettes?”
“Yes. ‘If you do, Mr. Dixon,’ I said—you know the old slogan, ‘Ask Dad—he knows—’ and I’m sorry to say I rang off.”
“I’ll bet he goes over and asks your father!”
“Very probably. Dad’s rather touchy when anybody questions my rating as a pilot. I’m afraid your father will get an earful.”
Cocoa and toast had disappeared by this time so the two in the cabin set about clearing up.
“You must’nt mind Daddy’s crusty manner,” she said with her hands in a dishpan of soapsuds. “He’s always like that when he’s upset. He doesn’t mean anything by it.”
Bill, who was stowing away cups and saucers in the locker, turned about with a grin. “Oh, that’s all right. I had no business to get facetious—my temper’s not so good, either. But there’s no hard feeling.” He held out his hands. “If you’re finished with the dishpan I’ll throw the water overside. The storm has broken and there’s practically no wind. So if you’re ready we’ll shove off for New Canaan—and I’ll give you your first hop.”
CHAPTER IV
THE FIRST HOP
“How about giving me my first flying lesson now?” Dorothy suggested as Bill hauled in their anchor.
“You really want to learn?”
“Of course I do—I’m crazy about it!”
Bill coiled the mooring line, looping it with practiced skill. “And I’d be glad to give you instruction. But you’re a minor—before we can start anything like that we must get your Dad’s permission.”
“Oh, that’ll be all right, Bill,” was the young lady’s cool assurance. “But how about right now—”
“Every student aviator is a watchful waiter the first time up. You stand behind me this trip and I’ll explain what I’m doing as we go along.”
“That’ll be great! I’m just wild to fly this plane!”
Bill smiled. “But you won’t get your flight instruction in this plane, Dorothy.”
“Why not?”
“This amphibian is too big and heavy, for one thing; for another, she isn’t equipped with dual controls.”
“But what does that mean?”
“I see we’ll have to start your training right now, Miss Student Pilot—Controls is a general term applied to the means proved to enable the pilot to control the speed, direction of flight, altitude and power of an aircraft.—Savez?”
“You sound like a text book—but I get you.”
“All right. Now, unless we want the bus washed up on the beach, we’d better shove off.”
Fastening the door to the deck after them, they passed through the cabin and into the pilot’s cockpit where head-phone sets were at once adjusted. The amphibian bobbed and swayed at the push of little waves. The sun’s face, scrubbed clean and bright by wind and rain was reflected in the rippling water; whilst wet surfaces of leaves, lawns, tree trunks and housetops bordering the inlet gleamed in a wash of gold.
Little gusts of fresh air blew in through the open windows filling the cockpit with a keen sweet odor of wet earth.
Dorothy drew a deep breath. “My! the air smells good after that storm!”
“You bet—” agreed Bill. “But I’ll smell brimstone when your father comes into the picture, if we don’t shove off pronto for New Canaan.”
“Oh, that’s just like a boy—” she pouted.
“Shush! student—Listen to your master’s—I mean,—your instructor’s voice, will you?”
“Instructor’s better,” she smiled.
“Here beginneth your first lesson.” Bill slid into the pilot’s seat. “Stand just behind me and hold on to the back of my seat,” he ordered.
Dorothy promptly did as she was told. After all, was not this the real Bill Bolton the famous ace and midshipman she had read about?
“All set?”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
“Good enough! Here we go then. I’ll explain every move I make, as I make it. Look and listen! First—I crack the throttle—in other words, before starting the engine, set your throttle in its quadrant slightly forward of the fully closed position. Next, I ‘contact’—that’s air parlance for ‘ignition switch on.’ After that, I press the inertia starter to swing our propeller into motion—” the engine sputtered, then roared.
“It is most important,” he went on a moment later, “to see that the way ahead and above is clear at this point. Safety first is the slogan of good flying.”
“Yes. But really, Bill, you don’t have to explain every thing you do. I’m watching closely. When I don’t understand, I’ll ask—if it’s all the same to you?”
“Good girl. Don’t hesitate to ask me, though.”
“I won’t.”
With that she saw him widen the throttle and with his stick held well back of neutral to prevent the nose dipping under the waves, he sent the big seaplane hurtling through the water toward the inlet’s mouth. The wind had changed since the storm and now, as they raced into the teeth of the light breeze, Dorothy tingled with that excitement which comes to every novice with the take off.
Six or eight seconds after opening the throttle, she saw him push the stick all the way forward.
“Why do you do that? Won’t that raise the tail of the plane and depress the nose?”
Bill shook his head. “In the air—yes. But we’re moving at some speed now on the surface—and the bow cannot be pushed down into the water. Our speed is gradually forcing it up until—now—we’re skimming along on the step, you see.”
Dorothy nodded to herself and watched him ease the stick back to neutral and maintain it there while they gathered more and more speed.
“Now I’m going to talk some more,” said Bill. “Don’t blame me if it sounds like a text book.—In order to fly, certain things must be learned—and remembered. Do not take off until you have attained speed adequate to give complete control when in the air. Any attempt to pull it off prematurely will result in a take off at the stalling point, where control is uncertain. Understand?”
“I think so—but how does one know when to do it?”
“That comes with practice—and the feel of the ship. As flying speed is gained, I give a momentary pressure on the elevators (like this)—and break the hull out of the water—so—easing the pressure immediately after the instant of take off. Now that we are in the air our speed is only slightly above minimum flying speed. Any decrease in this would result in a stall. That is why I keep the nose level for six or seven seconds in order to attain
a safe margin above stalling point before beginning to climb.”
“There’s certainly a lot more to it than I ever dreamed!”
“You bet there is. I haven’t told you the half of it yet. One thing I forgot to say—you must always hold a straight course while taxiing before the take off. Also, never allow a wing to drop while your plane is on the step.—We’ve got enough speed on now, so I’ll pull back the stick and let the plane climb for a bit.”
“But you’re heading for the Long Island Shore directly away from New Canaan—” she protested, “why don’t you bring her about—not that I’m in any hurry, but—”
“This is an airplane, not a sailboat, Dorothy. All turns must be made with a level nose. If I should try to turn while in a climb like this, a stall would probably result, and with the wing down the plane would most likely go into a spin and—”
“We’d crash!”
“Surest thing you know!”
“Oh!”
“But the altimeter on the dash says one thousand feet now. We’re high enough for our purpose. So I push the stick forward, like this—until the nose is level—so! Now, as I want to make a right turn, I apply right aileron and simultaneously increase right rudder considerably.”
Dorothy saw one wing go up and the other go down. She was hardly able to keep her feet as the plane’s nose swung round toward the Connecticut shore.
“Isn’t that called banking?”
“Right on the first count,” replied Bill.
“Why do you do it?”
“Because in making a turn, the momentum of the plane sets up a centrifugal force, acting horizontally outward. To counteract this, the force of lift must be inclined until it has a horizontal component equal to the centrifugal force. The machine is therefore tilted to one side, or banked, thus maintaining a state of equilibrium in which it will turn steadily. No turn can be made by the use of the rudder alone. The plane must be banked with ailerons before the rudder will have any turning effect.—Get me?”
“I get the last part. Guess I’ll have to do some studying.”
“Everybody has to do that. But I’ll lend you some books, so you can bone up on the theory of flight. What I said just now amounts to this: if you don’t bank enough you send your plane into a skid.”
The Second Girl Detective Megapack: 23 Classic Mystery Novels for Girls Page 162